Happy Christmas! And welcome, to Brown's Blunderland
Last updated at 3:14 AM on 05th December 2008
Back in 2001, I published a novel, To Hell In A Handcart, in which part
of the action took place at a tacky theme park called Goblin's,
somewhere in southern England. Disneyland, it wasn't.
Richard Littlejohn
The surly, tattooed staff were forced to dress as elves, the rip-off
food was poisonous, visitors were wheel-clamped as they drew up at
reception, the whole place was run entirely for the convenience of the
management and nothing worked properly.
Guests included a party of juvenile delinquents, taken on holiday at
taxpayers' expense by their social worker to teach them the error of
their ways.
They spent their time fighting, swearing, drinking, taking drugs,
abusing employees and fellow campers alike, burgling the chalets and
stealing from cars.
Goblin's wasn't meant to be a metaphor for modern Britain, but I can
understand why some people thought it might be.
It all came flooding back this week when I read about the Lapland New
Forest experience, otherwise known as Winter Blunderland, a new 'tourist
attraction' on the Hampshire/ Dorset border.
The staff even dressed like elves. Families who'd paid £30 a head were
expecting a snowy Christmas village, an ice-skating rink and a jolly
Santa handing out presents.
They arrived to find something which resembled a cross between an
illegal gipsy site and a derelict garden centre, with 'Lapland: Way In'
Sellotaped onto a traffic cone.
There were mangy 'huskies' covered in mud and tethered to stakes, the
ice rink was closed for repairs and after being forced to stand for up
to three hours in freezing temperatures to see Santa, visitors were told
if they wanted their pictures taken with him it would cost them an extra
£10.
Most of the toys handed out didn't work. The Nativity scene looked like
something 'plonked in the middle of a war zone', according to one
witness.
Needless to say, tempers became frayed and the elves started brawling
with customers.
Santa was punched in the face by a father who had been waiting in line
for four hours.
A young girl had to be comforted after arriving at the grotto only to
discover Father Christmas out the back having a quiet cigarette.
One of the elves took a blow from a livid mum. Another elf suffered leg
injuries when she was rammed by a pram.
A security guard said he was called a 'pikey' and punched in the
forehead by an irate parent.
Last night, after more than 2,000 complaints, the park shut down as
local trading standards officers launched an investigation.
The RSPCA is also on the case, after reports that dogs, reindeer and
donkeys had been ill-treated.
It emerged that the erstwhile proprietor of Winter Blunderland is a
convicted fraudster, who has served time for tax evasion.
Victor Mears and his younger brother, Henry, brought to the theme park
industry all their valuable experience of running a scrap yard and a
fruit and veg stall.
The Brothers Grim are described as 'a bit like Del Boy but without the
nice side' and, working on the tried-and-tested principle that there's
one born every minute, expected to make £2 million from mug punters over
the festive period.
Now, you might ask why these unfortunate families didn't cut their
losses and turn tail when they saw the entrance to the attraction, which
made the approach to a council recycling depot look like the Yellow
Brick Road.
But after what, in some cases, must have been an arduous journey along
the South of England's congested, pot-holed highways, which heartless
parent is going to tell their excited kiddies they're going straight
home without seeing Father Christmas?
More than 50,000 people had already paid, upfront online. And seeing the
enchanting publicity pictures on the Lapland New Forest website, it's
easy to understand how so many were taken in.
Still, if it's metaphors you're looking for, Winter Blunderland is a
reasonable approximation of Brown's Britain.
You can just imagine Gordon, dressed up in his Santa suit, with chief
pixie Peter Mandelson at his knee, rubbing his hands at the thought of
raking in all that lovely money on a false prospectus.
Mandy's even got form for fraud. How much tax have we paid over the
years for goodies which have failed to materialise - from a 'world
class' transport network to weekly dustbin collections?
Brown's Britain is run entirely for the benefit of the management,
everything costs an arm and a leg and nothing works properly.
The queues for Santa's grotto equate to those for treatment on the NHS.
If you want to see a dentist, or guarantee your children a decent
education, it'll cost extra.
Meanwhile, it's not just ice rinks closed in the real world, it's post
offices and police stations. Half the country resembles a transit camp
for gipsies and illegal immigrants, and there are scuffles breaking out
all over. Oi, you can't park there.
Happy Christmas, welcome to Brown's Blunderland, twinned with Goblin's.
We are all going to hell in a handcart.
The real conspiracy is against democracy
Jackboot Jacqui bluffed and blustered, blamed everyone else and refused
to accept any responsibility for Damian Green's arrest. So did Gorbals
Mick.
I told you they were going to brazen it out. Two parallel inquiries are
designed to kick the whole business into the bulrushes until the posse's
given up and gone home.
Frankly, the Government's behaviour over this sordid affair just keeps
getting worse, from the Prime Minister hiding behind the sofa, to Smith
pretending 'national security' was at risk, and Mandelson being allowed
by Jim Naughtie on the BBC to level against the Tories' baseless,
scurrilous accusations of criminal conspiracy.
(No MP is above the law, says Mandelson piously - except, of course,
when it comes to a Labour Cabinet minister obtaining a mortgage by
deception. Well done for picking him up on that one, Jimbo.)
Yet still it doesn't add up. Gorbals admits knowing in advance that
Green was going to be arrested.
He was also told the police would be raiding Green's office at the
Commons, yet did nothing.
With his customary gallantry, he passed the buck to his gormless
Serjeant at Arms.
Smith says she knew a civil servant at the Home Office had been
arrested, but didn't know until after the event that a senior Opposition
spokesman was part of the investigation.
Since the information leaked by the civil servant was put in the public
domain by Green, and it was Smith's office which made the complaint, who
did she think the police would be interviewing next - Kylie Minogue, the
Archbishop of Canterbury, that bloke who sells the Big Issue outside
Langan's Brasserie?
Her protestations of ignorance simply don't ring true. But don't bank on
either inquiry shedding much more light on the matter.
The opposition parties huff and puff but lack a killer instinct. The
Serjeant at Arms will be taken out and shot, but that will probably be
the end of the body count.
Once again, they've got away with it. This is how democracies die.
London yawning
Traditional lullabies are on the way out, as mums prefer to rock their
children to sleep to pop songs by Robbie Williams and James Blunt.
There's nothing new in this.
The only thing that would get my son to nod off when he was a baby was
The Guns Of Brixton by The Clash on full volume, over and over again.
My arms often went to sleep before he did. And Joe Strummer while it
worked in the end, it kept the rest of the street wide awake half the
night.
Bonfire of insanity
A lorry driver from Hartlepool has appeared in court charged with arson
for holding a bonfire - on Bonfire Night.
Brett Duxfield, 39, was thrown in the cells for ten hours and had his
fingerprints and DNA taken when the fireworks party on the village green
at Elwick was raided by 14 police officers.
Even though the bonfire has been lit every year since 1994, some killjoy
on the parish council invoked a 130-year-old by-law against rowdy
behaviour and called in the Plod.
Instead of telling the complainant to get lost, the Old Bill steamed in
mob-handed. And they wonder why decent people hate them.
It's not just Tory MPs on the receiving end of our police state. Where's
Guy Fawkes when you need him?
Rich pickings
Dustman Graham Hill found £10,000 in used banknotes in a litter bin.
They had been sliced up into little pieces and he has been told that if
he can stick them back together he can keep them.
No one knows where they came from. Has anyone thought of checking the
drains round the back of No 10 Downing Street?
The Government's entire economic policy nowadays seems to consist of
tearing up £20 notes and flushing them down the toilet.
If Graham can put this little lot back together again, there might be a
job for him at the Treasury.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1092014/Happy-Christmas-And-
welcome-Browns-Blunderland.html
The surly, tattooed staff were forced to dress as elves, the rip-offfood was poisonous, visitors were wheel-clamped as they drew up at
reception, the whole place was run entirely for the convenience of the
management and nothing worked properly.
Guests included a party of juvenile delinquents, taken on holiday at
taxpayers' expense by their social worker to teach them the error of
their ways.
They spent their time fighting, swearing, drinking, taking drugs,
abusing employees and fellow campers alike, burgling the chalets and
stealing from cars.
Goblin's wasn't meant to be a metaphor for modern Britain, but I can
understand why some people thought it might be.
It all came flooding back this week when I read about the Lapland New
Forest experience, otherwise known as Winter Blunderland, a new 'tourist
attraction' on the Hampshire/ Dorset border.
The staff even dressed like elves. Families who'd paid £30 a head were
expecting a snowy Christmas village, an ice-skating rink and a jolly
Santa handing out presents.
They arrived to find something which resembled a cross between an
illegal gipsy site and a derelict garden centre, with 'Lapland: Way In'
Sellotaped onto a traffic cone.
There were mangy 'huskies' covered in mud and tethered to stakes, the
ice rink was closed for repairs and after being forced to stand for up
to three hours in freezing temperatures to see Santa, visitors were told
if they wanted their pictures taken with him it would cost them an extra
£10.
Most of the toys handed out didn't work. The Nativity scene looked like
something 'plonked in the middle of a war zone', according to one
witness.
Needless to say, tempers became frayed and the elves started brawling
with customers.
Santa was punched in the face by a father who had been waiting in line
for four hours.
A young girl had to be comforted after arriving at the grotto only to
discover Father Christmas out the back having a quiet cigarette.
One of the elves took a blow from a livid mum. Another elf suffered leg
injuries when she was rammed by a pram.
A security guard said he was called a 'pikey' and punched in the
forehead by an irate parent.
Last night, after more than 2,000 complaints, the park shut down as
local trading standards officers launched an investigation.
The RSPCA is also on the case, after reports that dogs, reindeer and
donkeys had been ill-treated.
It emerged that the erstwhile proprietor of Winter Blunderland is a
convicted fraudster, who has served time for tax evasion.
Victor Mears and his younger brother, Henry, brought to the theme park
industry all their valuable experience of running a scrap yard and a
fruit and veg stall.
The Brothers Grim are described as 'a bit like Del Boy but without the
nice side' and, working on the tried-and-tested principle that there's
one born every minute, expected to make £2 million from mug punters over
the festive period.
Now, you might ask why these unfortunate families didn't cut their
losses and turn tail when they saw the entrance to the attraction, which
made the approach to a council recycling depot look like the Yellow
Brick Road.
But after what, in some cases, must have been an arduous journey along
the South of England's congested, pot-holed highways, which heartless
parent is going to tell their excited kiddies they're going straight
home without seeing Father Christmas?
More than 50,000 people had already paid, upfront online. And seeing the
enchanting publicity pictures on the Lapland New Forest website, it's
easy to understand how so many were taken in.
Still, if it's metaphors you're looking for, Winter Blunderland is a
reasonable approximation of Brown's Britain.
You can just imagine Gordon, dressed up in his Santa suit, with chief
pixie Peter Mandelson at his knee, rubbing his hands at the thought of
raking in all that lovely money on a false prospectus.
Mandy's even got form for fraud. How much tax have we paid over the
years for goodies which have failed to materialise - from a 'world
class' transport network to weekly dustbin collections?
Brown's Britain is run entirely for the benefit of the management,
everything costs an arm and a leg and nothing works properly.
The queues for Santa's grotto equate to those for treatment on the NHS.
If you want to see a dentist, or guarantee your children a decent
education, it'll cost extra.
Meanwhile, it's not just ice rinks closed in the real world, it's post
offices and police stations. Half the country resembles a transit camp
for gipsies and illegal immigrants, and there are scuffles breaking out
all over. Oi, you can't park there.
Happy Christmas, welcome to Brown's Blunderland, twinned with Goblin's.
We are all going to hell in a handcart.
The real conspiracy is against democracy
Jackboot Jacqui bluffed and blustered, blamed everyone else and refused
to accept any responsibility for Damian Green's arrest. So did Gorbals
Mick.
I told you they were going to brazen it out. Two parallel inquiries are
designed to kick the whole business into the bulrushes until the posse's
given up and gone home.
Frankly, the Government's behaviour over this sordid affair just keeps
getting worse, from the Prime Minister hiding behind the sofa, to Smith
pretending 'national security' was at risk, and Mandelson being allowed
by Jim Naughtie on the BBC to level against the Tories' baseless,
scurrilous accusations of criminal conspiracy.
(No MP is above the law, says Mandelson piously - except, of course,
when it comes to a Labour Cabinet minister obtaining a mortgage by
deception. Well done for picking him up on that one, Jimbo.)
Yet still it doesn't add up. Gorbals admits knowing in advance that
Green was going to be arrested.
He was also told the police would be raiding Green's office at the
Commons, yet did nothing.
With his customary gallantry, he passed the buck to his gormless
Serjeant at Arms.
Smith says she knew a civil servant at the Home Office had been
arrested, but didn't know until after the event that a senior Opposition
spokesman was part of the investigation.
Since the information leaked by the civil servant was put in the public
domain by Green, and it was Smith's office which made the complaint, who
did she think the police would be interviewing next - Kylie Minogue, the
Archbishop of Canterbury, that bloke who sells the Big Issue outside
Langan's Brasserie?
Her protestations of ignorance simply don't ring true. But don't bank on
either inquiry shedding much more light on the matter.
The opposition parties huff and puff but lack a killer instinct. The
Serjeant at Arms will be taken out and shot, but that will probably be
the end of the body count.
Once again, they've got away with it. This is how democracies die.
London yawning
Traditional lullabies are on the way out, as mums prefer to rock their
children to sleep to pop songs by Robbie Williams and James Blunt.
There's nothing new in this.
The only thing that would get my son to nod off when he was a baby was
The Guns Of Brixton by The Clash on full volume, over and over again.
My arms often went to sleep before he did. And Joe Strummer while it
worked in the end, it kept the rest of the street wide awake half the
night.
Bonfire of insanity
A lorry driver from Hartlepool has appeared in court charged with arson
for holding a bonfire - on Bonfire Night.
Brett Duxfield, 39, was thrown in the cells for ten hours and had his
fingerprints and DNA taken when the fireworks party on the village green
at Elwick was raided by 14 police officers.
Even though the bonfire has been lit every year since 1994, some killjoy
on the parish council invoked a 130-year-old by-law against rowdy
behaviour and called in the Plod.
Instead of telling the complainant to get lost, the Old Bill steamed in
mob-handed. And they wonder why decent people hate them.
It's not just Tory MPs on the receiving end of our police state. Where's
Guy Fawkes when you need him?
Rich pickings
Dustman Graham Hill found £10,000 in used banknotes in a litter bin.
They had been sliced up into little pieces and he has been told that if
he can stick them back together he can keep them.
No one knows where they came from. Has anyone thought of checking the
drains round the back of No 10 Downing Street?
The Government's entire economic policy nowadays seems to consist of
tearing up £20 notes and flushing them down the toilet.
If Graham can put this little lot back together again, there might be a
job for him at the Treasury.
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